Alec drinks his wine like a false martyr, sweating out a Christlike cross to bear, with the world against him....
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Suffering & a Baseball game Alec drinks his wine like a false martyr, sweating out a Christlike cross to bear, with the world against him, as he spends the night slurring manifestos toward womankind with his stomach on the dirt, crawling in it, his face down on the table—his woman on his mind, making him crazy, squeezing his eyelids shut, moaning until I take the bottle of Pinot Grigio away from him and pour it into a glass for Hector, and Hector's fresh from the manufacturing plant, stinking of burnt plastic, sitting down to thin-blooded Alec crying out. I give Hector the glass and he laughs, right in Alec's face, drinking down the white wine and calling it piss and going for my refrigerated beers and I've finished my coffee & rum, letting the cup sit there, then lifting it up, staring at the brown ring on the table. Alec is quiet. Hector pops a can, it fizzes, it comes out over the top and he sucks it off the rim, the baseball game's getting stale on the TV in the front room, someone's tripled. I walk the coffee cup to the sink and kick Alec's chair, which scrapes the tile floor loud and he jumps up, laughing, abandoning tear-stained Hyde and going back to usual Jekyll, the wine working its way out of his bones and into his skin. Hector disappears. He calls out from the living room:
"Three, zip. Phillies."
"Who're they playing?" asks Alec. He and I join Hector in front of the TV. I'm grinning.
"You know goddamn right you don't give a shit." I say. Things are getting better. The air is loosening up.
"Marlins." Hector mumbles, pulling the worn-out recliner toward the television. I push Alec aside as I walk by, toward the front door, closing it, doing the job Hector skipped when he came in. The phone rings, tenth time this hour, I know who it is, Alec knows who it is, Hector doesn't give a damn who it is and ignores it. If you caught your fiancée fucking your neighbor, the neighbor with the big dick and the brand new ex-wife, you might need a bottle of white wine, you might need to cry about the world over white wine, but the goddamn game's on now and the Phillies are up and there's no more white wine. So I ignore the phone. Alec smiles at me and reaches across to slap my shoulder as I flop down on the other end of the couch. Everyone's shoes are off, everyone's wondering what time Gianni's stops delivering pizza, everyone's got a good level of drink in their gut and everyone knows nothing's about to happen on the field even though the bases are loaded, and everyone sits quiet. The sixth inning commercial break comes and as I head upstairs to make a call, I hear Alec start to fill Hector in on the situation. I dial in the dark, in my bedroom, smelling the rum on my breath, smelling it overpower the coffee, and my girl picks up with "Hello?"
"Anita? Not coming over tonight." I say.
"That's fine." she tells me.
"Did Kirsten call you tonight?"
"Yeah, I'm actually headed over there right now. She called, she told me Alec's over there with you. She said she's been calling over there. Do you know what happened?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"What did Alec say?"
"It's best you hear it from Kirsten."
"Okay."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay." she whispers. I hear her frown through the phonelines. Click. I take my time making it down the stairs. Alec:
"...and they're right there, not even in the bedroom, in the living room, on the floor, with the stereo on, with the fucking baby upstairs—"
"Shit, what'd you say?" Hector asks, his eyes never leaving the baseball game on the TV.
"What the fuck am I supposed to say? I couldn't think of anything to say..."
"Man, if that was me, that puta, both of them..."
"I just walked out, and they both got up and they both saw me and she said something, yelled something, but I just walked out, went to work."
"You went to work? You worked through that shit? Goddamn, I woulda called in sick. Woulda copped some shit, smoked some shit, cooled the fuck out. Fuck her, man." Hector laughs, turning to me, saying "Three, two. See what you miss when you go wandering off?"
"Goddammit." I grunt, back on the couch. Hector's making a quick run to the kitchen for more beer, taking orders, Alec wants two, I say I'll take one. They come flying through to the couch, catching Alec offguard, hitting him in the chest. He hands me mine and I let it sit, he opens his to the sound of fizzing spilling over the top, yelling out "Fuck!" and I don't even bother to tell him not to get it on my rug. Too late. Hector's laughing and on the TV someone just sent one out of the park.
"What happened? Who hit?" Hector asks as he runs back into the room.
"Wasn't paying attention." I answer him. He sighs loud and sits back down on the recliner with five beers in his arms. Alec is still quiet.
"Laurie fucked Luther." I say to him, motioning to Hector.
"Shut the fuck up, man!" Hector yells.
"It's true. Right before Hector fucked that Lisa chick."
"Man..." Hector tries to tune me out, sucking down another beer.
"How come I didn't hear about this?" Alec asks.
"What guy you know would admit he got cheated on?" I laugh. Hector sneers: "Other than Alec here."
"So Hector only told you about Lisa, huh." I continue. Alec tries not to laugh.
"She fucked Luther." I say again. Hector sighs and leans forward to the TV. We're all quiet for a moment. Someone stealsa base, someone fouls out. We keep quiet.
"That fucking gimp Luther." Hector mutters. Alec and I break, laughing hysterically, and Hector smils a little. The Phillies score. Everything will be fine until the game is over and the beer is gone. I finish the beer in my hand, close my eyes and wait.
Bio: Contrary to popular belief, F.D. Marcél began biologically. His work has appeared in various publications, both online and in print. A listing of his recent work can be found at www.myspace.com/tragedymachine
Last update : 31-10-2007 14:29
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